March First
by Setsuna529
Summary: A serious fic about Aragorn's past. (NOT SLASH) Based on The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen by J.R.R. Tolkien.
1. The Counsel of Elrond

Author's Note: This story is based on _The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen_, as found in Appendix A of _The Lord of the Rings Trilogy_. I have taken this story and expanded it with my own personal interpretation and creative license to create a depiction of Aragorn's life before the _Trilogy_ events occurred. Sindarin elvish words have been italicized and are taken from the Sindarin dictionary found at 

~~~~'s indicate a change in the story's timeline (flashbacks or flashforwards) and ****'s separate subsequent chronological scenes. I hope that you will enjoy my fanfiction, and please review my story when you finish reading. Thanks! 

March First

Chapter One - The Counsel of Elrond

Silently, Aragorn treaded the familiar path through the trees of Rivendell until he reached a mound of raised earth, unkempt from years of solitude. 

He knelt down upon one knee, before the tomb, and brushed away the leaves and moss that had all but covered a small, unadorned headstone. With his finger, he carefully traced the inscription that the stone bore. 

_Gilraen_. 

His mother's name. 

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'Happy birthday, Estel, my son.' 

'Thank you, Mother.' 

She kissed him upon the cheek and smiled. _He has grown so much..._, she thought, sighing into her hand. 

Noticing this, he gave her a curious look. 

'What is it, Mother?' 

'It is nothing, Estel,' she said with a gentle smile. '...You aren't a little boy any more, and the time seems to have passed by so quickly...' 

'I have grown much indeed,' he replied, his grey eyes shining, 'Seeing as how you can no longer kiss me upon my head as you once did...' 

'If you continue on like this, Estel,' she scolded, in a mock tone, 'Your head will be clear above every tree in Imladris...' 

'My apologies, Mother,' he said, smiling. 'I will try my hardest to stop growing.' With that he gave her affectionate kiss atop her head. 

'See that you do,' she said with a laugh. 

'You and Father wished to speak with me this morning, did you not?' he inquired. 

'Yes, Estel... We have many things to speak of, my son. It is an important day.' 

He nodded soberly. 

She smiled softly. 'Come. Let us not keep Lord Elrond waiting...' 

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'Ah, Estel, Lady Gilraen. Please, enter.' 

They nodded. 'Thank you, Father.' 'Thank you, Lord Elrond.' 

He gestured for them to sit. 

'Happy birthday, Estel,' Elrond started, with a slight smile. 

Nodding, Estel replied, 'Thank you very much, Father. It is a glad day for me.' 

'As well it should be,' Elrond returned. 'Eighteen years have passed since you and your mother first came into my care, and it has been a great privilege to have watched you grow into manhood. May the stars of Elbereth watch over you always.' 

'I thank you.' 

Elrond nodded and continued. 'Your mother and I had long decided that today, the twentieth anniversary of your birth, and the beginning of your journey as a man, would be the day that we would reveal to you your significance in the world of Men.' 

Estel was silent. His mother looked at him and gently squeezed his hand. 

Elrond pondered the boy for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly and began. 

'Your given name is Aragorn. I am not your true father, as I know you have guessed but have never questioned. Your father's name was Arathorn, and he passed away when you were two years of age.' He paused and looked at Estel. 

'...Aragorn...' He looked at his mother, as if doubtful of the name. 

Gilraen nodded to him and drew his hand to her. 'That is what I named you, my son.' She kissed his hand. 

He looked to Elrond. 'My father... my true father... how did he die?' 

Elrond's demeanor turned grim, and he did not look at Estel as he spoke. 'He was accompanying my sons in their pursuit of a band of Orcs... He was pierced through the eye by one of the foul creatures' arrows.' 

Estel bowed his head slightly, and Gilraen closed her eyes. 

'...Shall I continue?' Elrond asked, after a moment of silence had passed. 

Estel nodded. 

'Your father was of a race of Men that we Elves call the Dunedain.' 

'The Men of the West,' Estel replied, perking up slightly. 

Elrond nodded. 'Yes, the Men of the West, descendants of a kingly race of Men, the Numenoreans of old.' 

'Elendil -- Elendil was one. And his son, Isildur, who--' 

Elrond held up a hand to quiet him, but smiled in amusement. 'You have learned your history well, son of Arathorn. Indeed, the Men of the West are the very descendants of Elendil and Elendil's son Isildur who fought in the battle of Dagorlad long ago.' 

'You fought there as well, Father... Lord Elrond.' 

Elrond's eyes darkened. 'Yes... I fought.' He hesitated for a moment. 'The Battle of Dagorlad...' he recounted, 'The Last Alliance of Elves and Men against the foul minions of Mordor. The Men of Elendil and the Elves of Gil-galad fought side by side to protect the earth from the spreading evil of that wretched land. All seemed lost, when the Dark Lord came. But, in a moment of courage, Elendil raised up his sword Narsil to vanquish the Enemy, and was defeated. Isildur then took his father's sword in his hands, and even as the blade was broken, Isildur cut from the Dark Lord's hand the source of all his malicious power, The One Ring. It was Isildur... Isildur, who did not destroy the Ring, but kept It for his own, and It betrayed him to his death and was lost.' Elrond was silent for a short while, deep within his thoughts. He soon returned to the matter at hand. 'Yes, Aragorn, you are a descendent of the ancient kings, but even more, you are a direct descendent from Isildur son of Elendil himself. You are Isildur's Heir, and therefore heir to the throne of Gondor and the leader of the Dunedain of Arnor as well. You are a king -- that is, if you accept your lineage and prove yourself worthy of such honor, you will be able to claim what is rightfully yours.' Elrond paused, allowing his words to sink into the boy's head. He then said, 'As you are the Heir of Isildur, it is my duty and honor to bestow to you now, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Shards of Narsil, Elendil's Sword that was Broken.' 

Elrond rose from where he sat, and presented Estel with a bundle of beautifully woven, yet much-faded cloth. Inside, the fragments and hilt of the ancient sword shone, untarnished despite the passing of centuries. Estel held the hilt in his hand, stunned beyond words at the legendary blade he now possessed. When he could manage it, he asked, 'What must I do to claim my honor?' 

'You must go out into the world, Aragorn, and learn to be a man. The distinction does not come merely with age. You have much yet to discover of how the earth and its peoples coexist that you cannot learn from being isolated here in Imladris. You must prove yourself to be a leader of men -- only then will they follow you.' 

Estel then inquired, somewhat tentatively, 'And if I do not wish to be a leader of men?' 

'Then you will live in exile, and eventually fade away with your brethren the Dunedain.' 

More silence passed. 

'Whatever you decide is your choice alone, but the fact remains that you are Aragorn son of Arathorn, and your future awaits you beyond the confines of Imladris. Do you accept this?' 

'I do.' 

Elrond rose from his chair, and the others did likewise. 'In the name of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, I bid you safe journey, my son.' 

'Thank you, Lord. I will go with glad heart and strong mind.' 

They embraced warmly, and Estel departed, with much to think over. 


	2. Verdantly Familiar

Author's Note: The events in Chapter Two occur in the same day as those in Chapter One. I hope you enjoy the story and I appreciate reviews. Thank you for reading. 

Chapter Two - Verdantly Familiar

Treading silently through the ancient woods of Imladris, Estel made his way to a secluded pool fed by a small, trickling waterfall of crystal water. He sat down on a large, moss-covered rock near the water's edge, and gazed absently at his reflection. His grey eyes were dark with thought, and a cool breeze ruffled the dark locks that hung unkempt about his troubled face. 

'I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Heir of Isildur!' he murmured to the placid water. He shook his head at the vain declaration - it meant as much to him as it did to the mossy trees standing sentinel around him. The impassive forest took no more heed of him than usual - it cared not whether he was the descendant of legends, a crownless king, a leader of Men. And the face in the water had not changed, either - he was still Estel, despite what his mother and Lord Elrond had said. He was still their Estel. 

'_Estel..._'he muttered in contemplation. 

_Hope..._ the name held more meaning to it than he had ever before thought to consider. It had not been a carelessly chosen name - his mother and Lord Elrond had known who he was to become, and so decided upon a fitting name for him to carry until manhood. He realized now why they had waited until this day, his twentieth year, to reveal what was so long unknown to him. A child would not have been prepared to learn such things. He was their Hope - they had kept him safe, and now he was to go out into the world and become a man of Men. 

He looked again at his reflection and spoke, 'I am Aragorn, Arathorn's son and Isildur's Heir!' The face stared back with grey eyes, and although it had not changed, it was somehow not the same. 

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Estel returned to his bedchamber and found his mother waiting for him. He greeted her warmly, and she returned his smile; but the emotion in her eyes was one he could not read. 

'I have a gift for you, Aragorn my son...' Gilraen held a small box out to him, and he took it gently from her hand. 'It belonged to your father...' 

He looked at her with questioning eyes. 'Lord Elrond did not wish to present it himself?' 

A painful sadness filled her eyes, and he quickly realized his mistake. She turned away, not wanting him to see her tears. 

'Mother...' Estel stood and comforted her, taking her gently in his arms. 'Do not cry, Mother...' he said softly, as her tears fell upon his shoulder. 

Gilraen smiled, although her tears did not cease. 'As much as you are my son, you are also his...' She paused for a moment, emotion overcoming her. 'Arathorn was a kind man, and he loved you and I very much, Aragorn... You were only two years old when he left us... the Dunedain, your father's men, brought us here... and I took care of you, with the help of Lord Elrond and his people.' She brushed the tears from her eyes and pulled away from her son. She looked at him, and her smiled widened. 'You've grown so much since then...' She motioned for him to sit, and said, 'Please, open it... Arathorn would have been proud to see the man you've become...' 

Estel again took his seat, and stared at the delicately carved box. He removed the lid carefully. Inside lay a man's ring, silver, in the form of two emerald-eyed serpents entwined, one upholding a crown of golden flowers, the other devouring it. 

'This is...' 

Gilraen nodded to him. 'It is the Ring of Barahir, which Beren was given before his father's death. It has been an heirloom of that bloodline, and has been passed down from father to son for many an age... and now it is yours.' 

He glanced up at his mother before gently lifting the ring from its box. He ran his finger over the intricate detail, the emerald eyes glittering brightly in the fading sunlight, the polished gold and silver design shining boldly. Generations of Men had borne this Ring; a gift from Finrod Felagund and a token of Beren's House, it had seen the rise and fall of many great Men. Slowly, he placed it upon his forefinger and felt the weight of that ancient Ring upon his hand. A shiver of familiarity ran through his body, and it seemed to him that a great power welled within his heart. He looked upon his mother, and her eyes shone with tears of joy mixed with sadness. He stood up, and she saw before her the man her son would become, and also her husband, Arathorn son of Arador, ere he was slain; she saw the might of Numenor in his eyes, eyes that had yet to see many sorrows. She closed her eyes and wept anew. 

'Happy birthday, Estel, my son,' she whispered as he took her again into his strong arms. 

'It has been a glad day for me,' he said. 

He stroked her hair, even as Arathorn might have done, and her tears fell upon his shoulder unchecked. 

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The evening found the House of Elrond filled with songs of joy and gladness; the Sons of Elrond had returned from the wilderness of the northlands, and Estel was eager to see them. On many journeys had Arathorn's son accompanied them, and shown himself to be skillful with knife and bow and knowledgeable in wood lore. They three were brothers in all manners save blood; and even then a distant kinship united them. Estel found them conversing quietly outside Lord Elrond's chamber. 

'_Ai_, Elladan _a_ Elrohir!' he said, approaching them. 

'_A_, Estel, _gwador min_,' they replied, turning towards him. 

He embraced them warmly. 

'What news brings you to Imladris this eve?' he asked. 

'We bring tidings from the North to our father, Lord Elrond,' Elrohir said. 

'We have also heard that this day is of great importance to a friend and kinsman we have not seen for a time,' Elladan added, a slight smile upon his face. 

'Indeed it is,' Estel said, smiling. 'It gladdens me greatly that you have come.' 

Elrohir looked curiously upon Estel's hand. 'What ring is this you bear, Estel _gwador nin_? I had not noticed it ere this moment.' 

'_A_, it was given me this day by my mother,' Estel answered; he had already grown accustomed to the ring's weight and had forgotten that it still adorned his hand. He removed it from his finger and held it out to the brothers, so that they might see it more closely. 

'I recognize this token; it is not unfamiliar to me,' spoke Elladan, upon closer inspection of the ring. 

'Indeed,' Elrohir affirmed; 'For was it not Arathorn son of Arador who once bore these serpents same, and no less upon the same finger?' 

'They say sons are oft like their fathers, even when they know the elder not,' Elladan remarked. 

Estel was surprised by their comments, until he recalled Elrond's words concerning his father's fatality. 

'I have just this day learned of my father, and of his death,' Estel said, replacing the ring upon his forefinger. He looked at Elladan and Elrohir, inquisitively. 'You knew my father... you fought with him?' 

Elrohir nodded. 'He was a good man; we fought alongside Arathorn in many circumstances. He was honourable and a skilled swordsman; may Elbereth bless his memory.' 

This satisfied Estel's paternal curiosities for the moment; he was far more eager to hear of what new perils the sons of Elrond had faced during their absence. 

'Tell me, brothers: what adventures have I yet been removed from? You spoke of the Northlands, did you not?' 

'Yes; for these past three moons we have sought rumor of a spreading darkness in the lands of northern Arnor. A few scattered orcs we found and slayed, but little else to note,' spoke Elladan. 

'No offense to our father's realm, for Imladris in beauty and in peace none shall match, but I should have enjoyed accompanying you, although it quiet proved. It seems not so dull as here, I think,' Estel remarked. 

'No offense is taken, Estel _ion nin_,' Elrond said as he exited his chambers to greet them. A rosy hue darkened Estel's cheeks, and he gave a slight grin of embarrassment. Elrond placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled sagely. 'What you speak is true; for while Imladris is superior in loveliness indeed, I can quite imagine that it lacks a degree of excitement that young men often seek. But, do not despair, Estel my son; you shall find your hands full of adventure, soon enough. So enjoy the dullness while yet you still can.' Elrond then turned to Elladan and Elrohir. 'A welcome return to the land of Imladris, my sons.' 

'Thank you, father; it is a glad return, indeed,' they replied. 

Estel took his leave of them, so that they might discuss their matters in private. 

Day had ended in Imladris. A quiet breeze held only whispers of the winter months now past, and the sounds of a Sindarin melody drifted through the surrounding trees. 

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Green eyes glittered as the ring Aragorn bore upon his finger caught the waning sunlight. Many long years had passed since the Ring of Barahir had been bestowed to him, a tangible remembrance of his deep-rooted ancestry. He pressed the ring to his lips and closed his eyes. For a long time he was silent, as the daylight faded from the sky. He then began to sing, a soft murmur in the gentle evening wind. 

_The leaves were long, the grass was green,   
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,   
And in the glade a light was seen   
Of stars in shadow shimmering.   
Tinuviel was dancing there..._


End file.
